


Of Hunger and Halla

by mistysinkat



Series: Prompts and Drabbles [14]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Halla - Freeform, wastelands au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bran is searching for his twin sister, Meria, alone when he picks up a very strange travelling companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hunger and Halla

Bran could hardly believe what he was seeing. When he’d set the trap, he had been hoping to catch perhaps a rabbit or, shit, he’d have taken  _rat_  right about now, considering how low on food he was at this point. Hunger pangs had become almost as natural to him as breathing, but when he looked in his pack yesterday, a haze of panic settled around him. A sad mouthful of greens and a couple of cans of mystery food greeted him. It wasn’t nearly enough, and he was miles from any encampments, friendly or otherwise. He was skilled at foraging for food in and around areas where people gathered, but in this barren, cracked landscape, he couldn’t even count on that.

So he’d set the trap and hoped.

The Creators, it seemed, liked to torment him. He’d learned at an early age that they liked their little jokes, cruel as they were. How else could you explain the world they lived in now?

He sighed, pulling the hood of his cloak back from his face as his golden eyes surveyed his catch. Normally, it would be a quick slash of a dagger to the throat, a quicker field dressing, and Bran would have the protein his body so desperately needed. But this… this wasn’t normal.

“Are you even real?” he muttered at the animal thrashing in his trap.

He was looking at a  _halla_. An honest to Ghilain halla. It had been so long since anyone in his clan had seen one of the beasts, they were assumed extinct - too fragile and beautiful to survive this poisoned land.

His stomach was twisting into knots with hunger. Should he kill this creature? Eat it so he could continue on his lonely journey with the strength he’d need to overcome the dangers that lay ahead of him? Facing the roving packs of wildling Avvar or, Creators forbid, a group of Venatori with nothing to sustain him was a terrifying prospect. He knew he needed the meat. He had to continue on his way to find her, his other half - his twin sister, Meria. Nothing could stop him.

And yet, he found it wasn’t even a question. For better or worse, he put his dagger away and took a few tentative steps toward the injured beast. As he approached, he saw that its leg was mangled, caught in the biting claws of his trap.

_It’ll probably still die. A dagger across the throat might be a kindness at this point._

But he found that he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t take the life of what could be the last of these majestic creatures. He had blood on his hands, Creators help him. He’d lost count of the people and beasts that had fallen to the swift strokes of his daggers, even more to the arrows he let loose from his bow, but he wouldn’t be the elf to kill the last halla in Thedas. If he left any kind of impression on history, any sort of legacy, that wouldn’t be it.

He held up a shaky hand, hoping to ease the beast’s mind. He’d heard once that halla were able to somehow understand things, read the emotions and needs of the old elvhen people. He hoped that wasn’t just a fantasy as he regarded the set of sharp antlers it was now lowering.

“Easy there, buddy,” he soothed, “Let’s see what you’re about. Make you more comfortable, shall we?”

It didn’t seem like the halla understood. Its thrashing only grew more desperate as Bran moved closer, eyes rolling in fear of the elf approaching.

Or maybe it  _did_  understand. He’d had his dagger out, after all, considering whether or not he should kill it for dinner just moments ago. Either way, he kept moving forward, taking cautious step and speaking gently.

“You’re scared, right?” he spoke, “Well, here’s a secret… so am I. I’m scared that I’ll starve before I can reach my sister. We’ve been together since forever, you see, and I’m pretty sure she’s in trouble,” he paused, stopping just outside of the creature’s striking range. “So I set this trap so to get what I needed to have the strength to find her. Save her if I have to,” he chuckled softly, “Though she’s usually the one saving me.” He paused, “I didn’t mean for something like you to get trapped here.”

The halla calmed at that, regarding Bran with golden eyes of its own. He could see the intelligence there, could feel it thinking, and wondered at that. Perhaps the tales were right.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled his pack around and fished for the last bit of veg he had. He’d be without yet another meal, but it was suddenly important to him that this creature, this relic of a better time, should survive. He held the leafy greens out to the halla, hoping beyond hope that this gesture would be enough.

Hesitantly, it reached its delicate nose out toward the food Bran was offering. It was scared and in pain, yes, but he could see that the animal was in the same predicament he was in. Its ribs stood out in stark lines under its glossy white hide. Hunger. Everything in this desolate wasteland succumbed to it, eventually, and this halla was no luckier than Bran had been.

He felt a little tug then as the halla took a bite, testing and tasting. It must have decided the greens weren’t poisoned, because it wasn’t long until it had taken the bundle from him, chewing as it watched Bran.

“That’s it. Good, right? You can thank my sister for that. Always on about the gardening, that one,” another soft laugh escaped his lips as he carefully snaked one foot toward the trap. Easy. Easy. Almost there.

And then the halla jerked in fear or surprise or both. It happened so fast, Bran couldn’t react. He was far too close. Pain screamed in his mind as one of those antlers ran through his shoulder.

_Shit._

But he held on. The halla was rendered immobile this way at least. He’d see it freed and then worry about the new hole he’d acquired. What was one more on a body already riddled with scars, anyway?

His foot pushed the trap’s trigger, releasing it, and those steely jaws snapped open. Gathering his strength, he pulled away from the animal and lept back, dagger in hand. He didn’t want to kill it, but if it attacked, he’d have to defend himself. Have to. Meria was in trouble, he could feel it in his bones, and beside that, he  _missed_  her. He had to keep going.

An odd thing happened then. The halla didn’t attack. For a while, it didn’t even move. It regarded Bran with those bright eyes for a heartbeat. Another. And then, just as tentatively, just as cautiously as Bran had approached it while it was trapped, it stepped slowly toward him. Bran held his dagger at the ready, tensing at the animal’s limping approach. For its part, the halla lowered its head, but never broke eye contact.

_Easy there, buddy. Let’s see what you’re about._

Bran relaxed as the halla stopped, just outside his strike zone. Transfixed by its gaze, he moved to sheath his dagger again and held a hand out to the animal. It limped closer then, butting his hand with its snout.

_Unbelievable._

Bran’s eyes widened in shock as the creature, graceful even in its injured state, stepped into his space and sniffed at the bleeding wound it had caused. It did lower its gaze then in a gesture that seemed almost… apologetic?

Gently, more gently than he thought he could be, Bran stroked the silky hide between the halla’s antlers, then moved to scratch a bit behind its ears. He didn’t know why. It just seemed the thing to do.

“Hey, I’m sorry, too,” he murmured, “A blow for a blow. We’re even, big guy. Square.”

The halla looked back up then, golden eyes meeting golden eyes and butted Bran’s chest with its forehead. It seemed to like the scratching… or it was accepting the apology.

_Does it really understand me?_

Bran patched himself and the halla up as best he could, sacrificing more of his supplies to mend the beast. He winced at losing the elfroot and the few bandages he had, but the cause was good and it made his heart feel lighter. Sometimes, that was enough. Kindness in a cruel world was hard to find, and despite the things he’d been forced to do just to survive, Bran was still kindhearted. Meria had teased him incessantly for it. He wished she’d been there to see the halla.

When he moved to leave, waving goodbye to his friend, his stomach was still hungry, but he felt touched, changed for that encounter. He had hope where none had been before. If the halla still lived, what else might be out there, still good and pure in this hellscape?

———–

Days later, he was out of food, but still he pressed onward. He felt his energy leaving him, and he had to stop far too often to catch his breath and fight off the dizzy darkness that threatened to overtake him.

Of course he’d come upon an Avvar now. After weeks of trudging through desolation without another soul in sight, now would be the time when he’d have to act. They spotted one another at the same time, eyes wide for just a moment before the larger man attacked him, screaming words in a language Bran didn’t understand. Whether the Avvar was cursing him or pleading with him to stop, Bran didn’t know. He didn’t have the luxury to contemplate it as adrenaline surged and he knocked the behemoth off his feet with a deft sweep of his legs. Bran was on him, daggers flying, and in an instant it was over. The Avvar lay with his blood pouring out of him, Bran lying not far away, feeling his own lifeforce ebbing out of him.

_Fuck. Is this really it?_

Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he thought about how pointless - _how fucking senseless_  - it all was. He’d failed. It was over. His body relaxed as he gave in to the nothingess that had chased after him this whole time.

———–

Something was pushing him. Poking at his body, his face. He frowned and batted weakly at whatever it was disturbing his slumber.

“Leave me ‘lone,” he muttered.

A pause, and then something clamped down on his injured shoulder. Hard.

“Fucking OW!” he yelled as he shot up.

Golden eyes rimmed silvery white filled his vision for a moment. Then, the blood rushed to his head and everything went wavy as he fell back to the ground. He took a few breaths.

_Still alive. Will wonders never cease?_

The halla nuzzled him again, bleating softly. Bran felt puffs of breath against his cheek as he placed a hand against its warm neck.

“It’s ok,” he laughed weakly, “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

The halla wasn’t to be deterred however. It kept nudging him until he dragged himself slowly back up to a seated position.

“Good enough?” he asked.

It wasn’t. The animal bit at his cloak and pulled.

_Get up. Come with me._

As clearly as if it had spoken, Bran knew what it wanted. “I don’t think I can, bud,” the elf sighed. He was drained; he thought himself already dead, despite the momentary reprieve. Even now, his mind was spiralling down as his vision clouded. He closed his eyes.

The halla bit him again, this time pinching skin.

_Get. Up._

It lowered its neck then, bending on its good knee to allow the elf purchase to grab. 

_Lean on me. I’ll help._

Bran wrapped an arm around the halla’s neck then, and together, they somehow got him standing. Mostly. Much of his body weight was on the beast, his fingers tangled in the longer fur along its back. He really was leaning on it as they moved forward, both limping, both injured, but both impossibly _alive_.

The halla seemed to know where it was going, so Bran was content to let it lead. He chose to concentrate instead on putting one foot in front of the other, a task that was so simple yet so monumental in his weakened state. They entered the sanctuary of a scraggly stand of trees. This was what they called a forest now, but he knew from the tales of his people that this land had once been green and rich with flora and fauna.

And it seemed like pockets of it still was. Bran’s eyes widened at the sight. A small spring, hardly more than a mud puddle, but it was heaven… and likely what the Avvar died to protect.

_This must be a dream._

He fell to his knees in front of the water, hands fumbling in his pack, searching desperately for his water purifier. He hadn’t lost himself enough to drink from that spring - most of the water in Thedas was foul and poisoned - but it was a near thing. He waited for the water to filter through his canteen and cast his eyes about as it did. A sad little bush with sad little berries grew at the edge of that spring, but to his eyes, it was a feast.

Maybe now he’d make it. Maybe he wouldn’t have to lie down, give in. Maybe he wouldn’t have to give up.

After he’d eaten and drunk his fill, sharing with his friend, he found himself lying down, head resting on the halla’s stomach. He felt energy slowly returning to his body as he dozed to the rise and fall of the animal’s breathing.

“Are you even real?” he asked again, in a sluggish voice. The halla snorted almost derisively at that.

_Of course I am._

Bran chuckled. It felt good to have a friend. It felt good not to be alone any more. He hadn’t even realized how much he needed to feel connected again, how incredibly lonely he had been out there in the wastes.

The temptation to just stay was so strong, it was tangible. But he knew there would likely be trouble in the form of angry Avvar headhunters on the horizon. Plus, the berries were nice, but they’d only keep him going for so long. No, he couldn’t stay. Soon, he’d have to rise and find real sustenance, but for now, he was content to lie there and rest as his body brought itself back from the brink. He hoped that when he left, the halla would follow.

He hoped that he had a friend.

“So, do I take it I have a traveling companion now?”

Again, the halla chuffed.

_Of course you do._

**Author's Note:**

> @sallyamongpoison sent me a prompt set within her Thedas Wastelands AU for my sweetiepie, Bran. Since Cullrian is established there, poor Bran is out in this mess alone. I can’t leave my boy alone - he doesn’t do well by himself - so I decided to use it to give him a friend.


End file.
